was dead—reports said he had been killed sometime early yesterday—and the
Orléannais
had killed
any of d'Charenton's soldiers they could find. The majority of the troops had stripped off their uniforms
and were probably somewhere in hiding.
A few hours ago Jerome Bonaparte's flagship had anchored at the bottom of Toulouse Street, and a
squad of Marines led by the ship's officers had come seeking their Admiral. They, too, had helped to
restore order to the fractured city. If the Imperial Fleet had engaged the Baratarian navy, no one had
thought it worthy of mention.
There were still bands of drunken looters roaming the streets, but their depredations were no worse (so
Corday said from his bed in the makeshift hospital in the Arsenal) than what one might see at Mardi
Gras. Word had been passed, and the surviving leaders of the intended revolution had gathered; Corday
was being proclaimed as Governor, but that, too, would change quickly.
"I suppose we can vanish into the mist, now?" Koscuisko asked hopefully.
"I think so," Wessex answered. "Let us see if Pierre Lafitte's house still stands. D'Charenton is dead, and
I am too tired to think of anything else but sleep."
But as they came down the steps of the Arsenal, both men gazed as if summoned toward the Cathedral
across the square. Wessex thought of asking Koscuisko what had really happened last night—or at least
what his partner had seen—but hesitated, realizing he truly did not want to know the answer. But it
seemed somehow fitting, with the miracle of their survival growing more ordinary with every moment, to
give thanks for their salvation in the Christian place nearest to it.
The doors of the Cathedral stood open. The bodies of the murdered priests had been taken down from
d'Charenton's gibbet, to wait with the others for inhumation in mortuary tombs in St. Louis Cemetery,
and volunteers were aiding the Bishop in cleansing the building of its defilement.
A strong scent of lye and incense greeted Wessex as he stepped inside. The church looked as if it had
been stripped bare of all decoration, and faded bloodstains still covered the walls. Part of it had been
converted into a makeshift field hospital, but the pews were also full of
Orléannais
giving thanks for their
deliverance.
Koscuisko moved forward confidently—the man was a Catholic, after all—but Wessex hesitated in the
doorway, not certain, now, what he had been seeking here in the sanctuary of an alien faith. Last night he
had done the King's work, and the White Tower's, and perhaps God's as well. He was thankful, but not
certain whether he should render thanks—or to whom, in the final analysis. It was an uncomfortable
thought.
"Rupert!" a beloved voice cried, cutting through the murmur of prayers. Wessex looked around, and saw
an Indian youth hobbling toward him on a makeshift crutch. Then he knew it was Sarah, and a moment
later she was in his arms.
"Wessex! What are you doing here?" his bride demanded indignantly. She smelled of smoke and blood,
and there was a thick bandage upon her leg, but she was here, alive, and whole. "Meriel is here, and I—"
"I don't care," Wessex answered, burying his face in her throat.
The Leopard Triumphant
(December 25th, 1807)
T
he King of Louisianne was officially crowned on Christmas Day.
The two months since d'Charenton's death had been busy. Admiral Jerome Bonaparte had sailed his
ships out of the port on November 14th, bearing a copy of Louisianne's Declaration of Independence to
the Emperor, his brother. Unlike most messengers with such unwelcome news, Jerome Bonaparte was
almost certain to survive the delivering of it.
Envoys had gone to the Lord-Lieutenant of New Albion and the King of England as well, for Louisianne
intended cordial relations with her sister powers. Within a fortnight of Louis' assumption of this
newly-created throne—he would be the head of a constitutional state, though the Constitution was yet to
be written—the Port was once more filled with shipping, as the word spread that the ruinous tariffs of the
previous several months had been overturned.
Other matters would take longer to unravel. Though the buying and selling of slaves had been abolished
immediately, as had the provisions of the draconian Black Code, the slaves' full manumission would be
the slow work of months, for more than half the present inhabitants of Louisianne were property > and
without their labor, all of Louisianne would starve. They must be educated to freedom, the large
landholders persuaded to take responsibility for cultivating their independence and preparing them to sell
the labor that had once been extorted from them.
But mat was the work of politicians and statesmen, and undoubtedly Louisianne's new rulers would
contrive something, Wessex thought. The daily minutiae of government had never been of interest to him,
and just now, it was even less so. For the last two months, the Duke and Duchess of Wessex had lived in
a rented house on Rampart Street, attended by Atheling (who had arrived on the Duke's newly
purchased yacht only a few days after the news had reached Baltimore of the revolution in
Nouvelle-Orléans) and entertained by Illya Koscuisko—and, occasionally, by Lafitte's young companion
Robie, now recovered from his wound and complaining bitterly that the days of adventure seemed to be
over.
It had been a curious and oddly pleasant interlude. The Wessexes planned to return to England when the
spring sailing season began, but Wessex's resignation from the Order of the White Tower would precede
him there by some months. He did not know just what the future would hold, but he knew that no longer
could he travel a road of divided loyalties. He was the Duke of Wessex, the King's man, and he could no
longer play the Shadow Game.
Her husband had told her very little of his adventures; Sarah had pieced together the truth of that terrible
night from things M'sieur Corday let fall and from marketplace gossip. Louis had told her more, when she
had finally been able to pry him from Meriel's arms, but Meriel had told her nothing at all. The Cup she
had carried here from the banks of the Ohio through such trouble and privation was gone once more, and
for Meriel that was the end of the matter.
The young friends spoke instead of the future: Meriel's, to reign as Queen-Consort of this strange new
country that seemed to Sarah like an odd mirror-echo of her own lost United States; Sarah's, to return to
England and her place as Wessex's Duchess. At least Wessex seemed now to be at peace, far more so
than she had ever yet seen him. It was as if, in the months he had been parted from her, he had faced
some strange trial of bravery and won home to her arms, content at last.
Sarah was content as well. Ever since her arrival in this world she had fought against its strangeness and
longed for the one she had lost, but no longer. If her adventure had taught her anything, it was that she
did not want merely to take up her old life once more, even if she had been able to. She was no longer
that young Colonial who had looked upon the Bristol Docks with such wide-eyed awe. She belonged to
England now… and to Wessex. Together they would work for England, so that the terrible vision of
Sarah's spirit-quest would never come to pass.
The coronation was the vindication of all that the
Orléannais
had done to sweep the memory of
d'Charenton from their city. St. Louis Cathedral was filled with dignitaries from throughout the Grande
Alliance. Thomas Jefferson, the Lord-Lieutenant of New Albion, had come with his new bride, the
former Sally Hemings, and the governors of Maryland and Virginia had come as well. The chiefs of those
tribes which shared Louisianne with the Europeans sent envoys and gifts, and in the end the occasion, if
not as splendid as its European counterpart, was as sparkling and lavish a day as Nouvelle-Orléans had
lately seen. At nine o'clock that December morning, an open carriage pulled up before the house on
Royal Street that was home to the young King-Elect and his wife. They had risen early that morning to
hear Mass in a private chapel, and then separated to don the clothes they would wear at the ceremony.
Louis wore a fabulous formal dress of white velvet, with satin shoes and a satin waistcoat His person
glittered with diamonds—many of them borrowed—for the proud
Orléannais
were determined that their
King would outshine even his Old World counterparts. Jean Lafitte, the new First Minister, had provided
much of the fabric, as well as the gold and some of the jewels for the coronation. His pirate empire of
Barataria had been legitimated—to the disappointment of many of its inhabitants—and came, now, under
the umbrella of Louisianne law and the Constitution that was still being toiled over.
Meriel wore a gown with a short train all of white satin. The underdress was sewn with pailettes of white
gold in a pattern of vines and flowers, and the split skirt of the overdress was trimmed in silver lace.
Around her neck she wore an ornate antique necklace of diamonds and pearls, and upon her head, a veil
of antique lace. She more resembled a bride than a matron, but today she would become a Queen.
Life is so very peculiar
, Meriel thought, pausing one last time to inspect herself in the drawing-room
mirror.
My uncle, Geoffrey, schemed and plotted to make me a Queen. And now I shall be, though
of a different realm than ever he imagined
.
"Are you nervous?" Louis asked, coming in. He looked pale but composed, his blond hair swept back
and pomaded into a shining sweep.
"A little," Meriel said. "But I know my part. And it will not be so very different from everything else we
have done, my love. It is another masquerade, that is all."
Louis seemed more resigned than enthusiastic about what was to come, but Meriel knew he would
accept it in time. Louis was of Royal blood, and some truths simply could not be ignored.
"When I thought I had lost you, I realized how foolish I had been to expose you to such danger. If you
are beside me, even this masquerade will be endurable." He took her hand.
"The carriage is here!"
Robie burst into the room with little regard for decorum. Louis had been his prisoner once, and even
though he was now the King's Page—Jean had thought the post would have a refining influence upon
him—he apparently saw no reason to treat his new master any differently. All that had changed was his
costume, for he now wore the red and powder-blue livery of the new Louisianne Royal House.
"Come on, Louis! You'll be late," Robie amplified.
"Anyone would think you wished me to be King," Louis said. "You will have to treat me properly then,
Robie. You will no longer be able to threaten to shoot me with impunity."
The young pirate-turned-page shrugged philosophically. "Ah, well. I dare say mere will be someone I can
shoot." He led the way down the steps to the carriage.
The street was filled with crowds who had been waiting since dawn to get a glimpse of them, and the
garnered spectators broke into noisy cheers when Louis and Meriel appeared. The Civil Militia lined the
street, as much as an honor guard as to control the crowd.
Meriel descended the steps as if she were floating, her head held regally high. Her husband, watching her,
realized that Meriel knew far more of being a Queen than he did of being a King.
But never mind
, he
thought to himself,
that will come with time. What do any of us
—
Lafitte, Corday, Baronner, any of
us
—
know about being kings and dukes and ministers and rulers? This is a new land, and we all
shall have to learn new things
.
The carriage moved slowly through crowded streets toward Cabildo Square. The winter air was cool
and sharp, but snow was a stranger here, and Louis and Meriel were comfortable in the open carriage
with no more protection than their cloaks.
By now, all trace of d'Charenton's jurisdiction had been erased both from the Cabildo and the square,
and each had been returned to its proper use. Engineers were studying how to close up the network of
tunnels which had been discovered beneath the city.
A red carpet stretched from the steps of the Cabildo to the doors of the Cathedral, for Louis would first
take a civil oath before the Court and then be crowned by the Bishop. Those observers without places
within the Cathedral were gathered in Cabildo Square and the streets beyond, waiting for the first sight of
their new King. They cheered as the carriage stopped before the Cabildo and Louis dismounted.
"I will see you in the church," Louis told his bride. "You know what to do, don't you?"
"I'll take care of her," Robie said impatiently. "Now go on—I want to get this over with so I can go to the
banquet."
Meekly, Louis allowed himself to be ordered off, and the carriage pulled slowly away, Alone, he walked
up the steps of the Cabildo.
Corday was waiting for him inside. The eye-patch he wore to cover his mutilation at d'Charenton's hands
gave him a rakish appearance, and the passage of time had healed him in body, but he still bore the
intangible scars of that terrible night. Louis clasped his hand warmly.